


I Burned, I Burned, I Burned

by ineachplace



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky remembers Steve and i’m Cryin about it, M/M, bucky pov, winter soldier era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 12:41:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16219259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineachplace/pseuds/ineachplace
Summary: “Bucky?”He was bigger, but Bucky would know that face even in the middle of dying. Those were Steve’s eyes.Yes. Steve. I know my name because you said it on the bus. Thank you for saying it. I’d be gone if you didn’t. I remember. Not everything, but I remember your skin under my hand. I don’t have that hand anymore but I remember. Don’t say my name again. They’re watching. I remember.“Who the hell is Bucky?”





	I Burned, I Burned, I Burned

**Author's Note:**

> My take on the Winter Soldier events AKA Bucky has one memory of Steve and it keeps him human PLUS I change random things and do whatever I want and cry a lot bc these two deserve a very happily ever after.

No one believes that he’s in there anymore, but he is.

He remembers. 

Not everything. Almost nothing, actually, but he remembers one thing. A single stone at the bottom of the river. The only stone they didn’t take from him.

Steve. A stranger to him except for this memory. The one Bucky turns over and over in his hand, traces like a lucky coin when the mouthguard goes in and the shock sends him quivering into darkness.

Steve. On the bus. Too many people around them. Someone wearing Bucky’s face hates that they’re not alone. Steve. He’s smaller in the memory but it’s unmistakably him. They’re pressed front to back, Bucky staring at the back of Steve’s head.

“Four more stops,” Steve mumbles, the veins in his left hand almost translucent where he’s gripping the filthy pole by the furthest row of seats.

“Next time we’re fuckin’ walkin’,” Bucky mumbles. Some lady behind him sneezes, and it pushes him further into Steve. He doesn’t think about it, arms reaching out and down to hold onto Steve’s hips. His mouth presses against his hair.

Steve. Steve gasps softly and pushes back, little body curving right into Bucky’s like two crescent moons.

It’s not allowed. Bucky remembers thinking that it’s not allowed. The little game they’re playing—the one he oddly knows they’ve played before—it’s not allowed. But he wants it.

He looks around. There’s barely room to turn his head, but he looks anyway and makes sure no one’s watching.

“Stevie,” he whispers it into the skin behind Steve’s ear, a quiet thrill going through him at the way he feels him shiver. One hand moves on Steve’s hips, hiking up his shirt until he’s got a handful of delicate hipbone.

“Bucky, shit, not here,” he hisses. He looks up at him, wide eyes framed by feathery blonde lashes. Blue but an unnamed shade. Not a word for it yet. Bucky will think of one.

They don’t move again. Bucky keeps his hand exactly where it is, rubs a few tiny circles on Steve’s skin with his thumb. He knows Steve can feel how hard he is from where they’re all pressed together. He’s not even embarrassed. Bucky doesn’t have the other memories, but he’s sure they’ve had a lifetime of this.

Steve’s hand comes down to rest on Bucky’s. The bus rolls through street after street, but they don’t move, and neither does anyone else.

He’s not sure what happens after that, or the years they undoubtedly had before. Everything else was scrubbed. But they forgot this.

At first, Bucky thought it was on purpose. Maybe they needed to keep one last shred of him tethered. But every time he came back, they’d put him back under, murmur about how they missed something. Needed to scrub him again.

But they never found it. That morsel tucked deeply away in Bucky’s memory. Right under their noses. It kept the last shred of him human and he clung to it like it was Steve’s hip, like it was everything, because it was.

 

Bucky hid it as well as he could.

“Who do you remember?”

“No one.”

“Who was with you on the plane?”

“No one.”

“Is there someone looking for you?”

“No.”

But Steve was looking for him. Bucky knew. Even when they tried to make him forget his own name, his own face, Bucky knew.

So when Steve finally found him, pretending was hard.

 

“Bucky?”

He was bigger, but Bucky would know that face even in the middle of dying. Those were Steve’s eyes. 

_Yes. Steve. I know my name because you said it on the bus. Thank you for saying it. I’d be gone if you didn’t. I remember. Not everything, but I remember your skin under my hand. I don’t have that hand anymore but I remember. They’re watching. I remember._

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

_They’re watching, I’m sorry._

 

It’s not enough, though. They put him under again. They almost find it. The stone. Steve. They go deeper than usual. He’s under for much longer, but he hides it; buries it.

 

“Who is Steve Rogers?”

“Captain America. A target.”

“Who is Bucky Barnes?”

“I don’t know.”

They ask him forty times. They ask him until he’s begging. 5,000 volts, then they put him under a second time.

—

Bucky is going to make Steve kill him. He plans it. Put on a good show, a good fight, then let it all end. He’s not sure Steve will do it, but he’ll have to make it look good; convince him.

 

“I’m not gonna fight you, Buck, you’re my friend.”

_I remember you. I know you._

“You’re my mission.”

 

Whatever they turned Steve into, Bucky’s flesh hand barely makes a scratch. He can see Steve’s face, unmarred as he hangs onto the edge of the helicarrier.

He’ll have to be more convincing. A few cracked ribs, a shattered cheekbone. Three bullets just skewed enough to miss anything major. It’ll scar, but he’ll be okay.

Steve will do it gently. He knows nothing except for that.

The man with the wings is in the way. He’s not part of the mission. He and Steve are partners and Bucky doesn’t like that. The redhead from before is close with them too. Bucky doesn’t like that either. He rips the wings off like they’re as delicate as a moth’s, watches the man fall towards the ground before a parachute deploys.

Steve’s in a uniform. The headpiece covers his eyes but it’s him. He knows it’s him. He’ll always know.

“People are gonna die, Buck.”

He doesn’t even care about the mission. The mission is secondary. He’ll hold onto the swipe card just long enough to make it look believable, then he’ll give it to Steve.

The truth is that there’s nothing to be done. That memory of the boy on the train, sandy hair and eyes like the skyline somewhere that isn’t the city. He’ll never not be what he is. He’ll never have Steve. That memory was from a long time ago.

But he can die by the hand of the only thing he trusts. It’s more than he deserves, but god, he wants it.

 

So he lets Steve break his good shoulder, straddle him, wrap an impossibly strong arm around his neck. The glass windows underneath him are warm. He feels it even through all the Kevlar. He remembers laying in the grass. Steve’s there.

He’ll get to keep this one too when it’s all over.

He lands a few good punches, feels Steve’s forearm dig even further into his throat, then he stops fighting.

It’s quiet for a second. Peaceful. His shoulder hurts but it won’t matter soon. Steve’s chest is broad and solid underneath him, even in its barbarism. He’s killing him but it really just feels like being held—cradled. He’s not even sure he’s putting on a show anymore. His metal arm flails around for a few seconds before Bucky just drops it like lead onto the glass. 

But Steve lets go too soon. Air floods back into him, filling his wretched body back up with life, metal arm whirring and clicking and screaming.

The bullet wounds from earlier slow Steve down, but still, he grabs the swipe card. Bucky doesn’t even try to stop him. He climbs the ladder to the center of the ship and slams the chip into its place.

He hears Steve scream to someone “do it!”

And then they’re falling.

 

It feels familiar. Bucky’s crushed under some scaffolding, and Steve. Steve. Suddenly his Steve is beside him, pulling it off, saving him, standing Bucky up even as they’re descending.

There’s still time to finish this.

He lands four good punches with his metal hand as soon as he’s upright; enough to do damage but not enough to kill him. Never to kill him.

“Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. You’ve known me your whole life.”

_Yes. I don’t remember all of it but I know. I know but I don’t remember. Let me go. Please. Let me go._

“I’m not gonna fight you.” Steve’s wheezing underneath him, and it sounds like something he’s heard every day of his life. Something almost like a memory floats across his mind.

He thinks about saying something, but if Steve knew he remembered, no matter how little, he’d never go through with it. He’d never kill him if he believed there was something to save.

So he punches again, right into Steve’s cheekbone, can feel and hear it shatter. It’ll heal, he reminds himself. He’ll heal.

“I’m...with you until the end of the line.”

Bucky stops. He stops. His entire body freezes, metal arm screeching halfway through the air.

 

Steve is small. Bucky has short hair and he kicks a brick over and picks up a key. Their key.

“I can get by on my own,” Steve says. Some kind of ancient sadness in his eyes.

“The thing is, you don’t have to.”

Steve stares at him, his jaw clenching over and over again like he’s trying to crack a hard candy in half.

“I’m with you until the end of the line, pal.” It was Bucky who said it. Bucky said that. Steve’s shoulder under his hand is warm. He remembers that. He remembers.

 

Steve falls. Bucky follows.

 

He pulls him from the water, watches him breathe for a full minute before cradling his shoulder and walking just out of eye sight. He waits.

He waits for them to come get him. For the trucks and the men and their vests and their guns and all the tasers. He waits. Once they wipe him, he’ll try again. He’ll be more thorough this time.

No one ever comes. He still waits. Counts every hour that passes until it’s been a full 24. If it’s a test, it’s not one he’s been given before.

Steve isn’t there when he slowly makes his way back to the river’s edge. There’s not a trace he ever was. Cautiously, desperately, he touches his hand to the ground where Steve laid, then he runs.

—

Of course Steve finds him again. Bucky knew he would, he just didn’t think it would be this soon. He’d calculated Steve’s recovery, leaving room for the serum and enhancements. One month and he’d look completely new, the only scars internal from the bullets he used.

Steve’s standing in the middle of the apartment, wearing that uniform that’s looking more familiar to Bucky now. With no one to wipe him clean after every mission, echoes of things come back and then stick. 

“Buck.”

“No.”

He thinks about coming clean; asking for what he really wants. Part of him actually thinks Steve would oblige him now. He’d make it quick and painless. Maybe he’d hold him again like last time. 

He doesn’t say anything though. Neither of them do for the longest time. The only sound between them is their breathing; erratic and too loud, like they’ve run a marathon,

“You—“ Steve cuts himself off, reaching up and ripping off his headpiece so that Bucky can really look at him. “You pulled me from the river. Why?”

His face is pleading and desperate. He wants Bucky to say something. He’s asking for proof that Bucky remembers and god, he wants to tell him.

“I don’t know.”

He bites down hard, hears his jaw cracking under the pressure.

Steve moves closer, stops when Bucky takes a few steps back.

“Yes you do.”

He moves closer again, dropping his shield, Not even flinching at the violent sound the metal makes when it hits the floor. He keeps moving. Bucky doesn’t back up this time, just stands there, one foot away from the makeshift bed in the corner.

“Yes you do,” Steve repeats again, closing the distance between them, fisting both hands in Bucky’s hair. “Yes you do, yes you do, yes you do.”

Something breaks loose in Bucky at the touch. The coiled spring he’d been so careful not to rattle frees itself, and he cries for the first time in his new life. He cries with Steve’s hands in his hair and somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s sure he’s done this before.

“You’re Steve,” he whispers miserably, burying his hands in Steve’s uniform and keeping him there. “I remember. You’re Steve.”

“Bucky...Bucky, baby...” Steve is crying too. He tilts his head to the right, lifting Bucky’s good hand and kissing the vulnerable skin of his wrist. It’s not so much a kiss as a swipe of his mouth. He smears it over the paper thin skin, and then he’s pushing Bucky against the wall, body completely covering him.

“Steve, Stevie, I remember.”

He buries his face in Bucky’s neck, hands frantic and desperate as they travel all over his ruined body.

“How much, Buck? How much do you remember?”

“I—depends on the day. Things come back in waves but I always remembered you.”

A broken cry pushes out of Steve, and then they’re kissing. Bucky doesn’t really know how it happens, but they’re kissing and he doesn’t even really remember how to do it, just lets Steve pour into him like water. It’s frantic and sloppy and Bucky doesn’t want to die anymore. He decides in that moment that he doesn’t want it, that if Steve wants him, can forgive him, then he’ll live forever to deserve that.

“Is this okay, baby, is this okay?” Steve pulls back, hands stilling on Bucky’s hips. Bucky isn’t sure what he does, maybe nods his head, but then he’s pulling his shirt up over his head and kissing Steve again, giving a little more this time, pushing his body forward, letting his tongue explore the ridges of Steve’s bottom lip.

“It’s gonna be okay, Buck, God I can’t believe you’re here. Will you stay with me? Can you stay with me?”

If Bucky is being honest, he’s been waiting to wake up back in his cell for the past month, waiting for the front door to burst open and to see Brock or Sunjin with those smiles of theirs, ready to bring him back and scrub him clean; leave him with nothing but the memory of that bus ride all those years ago.

“Hydra’s gone, Bucky. They’re gone. I have your files. I know what they did. They’re gone. You’re free. I promise you’re free.”

“With you.” The words fall out in between a loud sob. Steve catches them in his mouth, tongue salty from tears. “Take me with you. Keep me with you.”

“Always, Buck. Forever. God, baby.”

Bucky runs both hands through Steve’s hair, cries harder when Steve trails kisses up and down his metal arm, pressing his mouth to each finger tip—the same ones that hurt him—a silent forgiveness. He returns the favor tenfold, kissing apologies into Steve’s cheek, over his right eye, then dropping to his knees while Steve takes his uniform off, running his tongue along each place he shot, because he remembers exactly—can feel the scarred skin on the inside.

They touch and kiss and cry until they’re naked on the floor, Bucky in Steve’s lap, Steve inside of him, rocking up into him. It’s the first time but Bucky knows that’s not true. Steve touches him like he’s done it before.

“How long?” He moans when Steve maneuvers him onto his back, guiding himself back into him and starting back up at a frantic pace.

“Always. Always. From the first moment.”

“Yes,” Bucky sighs, arms wrapping around Steve’s shoulders, legs clamping around his waist. They stay there even after they’re finished, Steve still inside him, body the only paperweight keeping Bucky from flying apart and disappearing.

“We loved each other,” he whispers, not even needing Steve to answer.

“More than anything. Still do.”

Steve rolls off of him and onto his side, those eyes like blue flames burning through him until he feels clean and new.

“Yes,” Bucky sighs again, high and breathy, when Steve’s nose traces his jaw, hands cupping his face likes he’s something worth touching. “I remember.”


End file.
